Poetry Monday

December 5, 2016

Here’s a new one for you. See if you can guess what the poem is referring to. It’s describing something that everyone has. A desire that holds all of us captive. Enjoy.

Condition

Reckless abandon,
but really, it’s not.

You’re consumed with something,
and even you don’t see it.

You’ve abandoned nothing,
open your eyes.

The reflection it stirs.
You’re captivated.
Refusing to remove yourself.

You hate it.
You love it.
You are engrossed by it.

There is no escape.
You never let it go.
It is simply ingrained.

It’s within all.

Poetry Monday

November 21, 2016

Now I want to leave you all a note before you read this. At first glance it might seem incredibly offensive, and while it’s not meant to be, you could still struggle with what I’m getting at. I would suggest you pay attention to the meanings of the vocabulary I make use of, and I hope that you can appreciate a different perspective on this very serious and very sensitive subject.

Depression

A languish luxury
of the First World kind.
Afforded to those
that have the time,

to sit and think
to laugh and rhyme,
with every convenience
that makes life sublime.

They reside in the west,
men and women, depressed.
Leaving their coddled shell
feels like a difficult climb

even when there are stairs
conveniently cut,
but they would complain,
“They are covered in slime!”

It’s depression
and it feels like grime.

It’s depression
a languish luxury
of the First World kind.

Final Entry

November 17, 2016

Just finished my first journal, and I wanted to share the final entry with you all. So here it is.

Final Entry,

Currently I find myself seated on a rock that is on top of the world. It’s past noon, the sun is beginning to sink in the sky. It’s November and I’m on a mountain. This is a special mountain. I’ve slept on it. In fact, a little over three years ago, I shared communion with a few of my friends: Tyler, Ryan, Cody, Drew and Jake. It was an adventure I’ll likely never forget, and as we sat where I sit now, we broke bread, passed a bottle of grape juice around, gave thanks and enjoyed the landscape in good company. Today I’m seated with Tyler. We’re reminiscing, but also eager and afraid of the future. We have the choices we’ve made, those we are currently making and a whole lot more to make in the years ahead. Choices that don’t matter, choices that do matter. A whole bunch of them. As I continue to write, I find myself drifting back and forth between the future I find myself to be so concerned with and this moment. The weather here is perfect. Every so often, a gust of wind passes over the rock and chills my fingers to the bone, but between those moments I feel the gentle caress of the sun’s warmth. It’s amazing how I can hear the wind swirling about in the trees so far off before it finally reaches me and knocks the pages around over and over again. It is tranquil here – between the quiet conversations of the other hikers, and the laughs Tyler and I share every few minutes, I can say for a moment, I am satisfied. I wouldn’t want to finish this journal in any other state of mind. Right here and now, I feel right.

-Landon

Poetry Monday

November 14, 2016

The Fall

He’s fallen
flat on his face.
Standing
in the midst of disgrace.

There he stands,
no change of pace.
No break in stride,
but lost his place.

Lost.
Seated before a vision.
False.
Riddled a tale of fission.

He dares ask, “Why?”
when he knows the answer.
And my god
he chose to romance her.

You gave it to him
because he sought it out, Sir.
You gave him all he wanted
everything he’s after.

Past.
Made a decision.
Question.
In need of revision.

Collision.
Decision.
Then quick excision
from a story, that could have been.

All fault falls unto him.
The one that acted,
the one that sinned.

Poetry Monday

November 8, 2016

Untitled

Headache.
Heartbreak.
Breath,
intake.
Ache.

Unclear.
Mistake?

They travel down from above,
the mind made sore.
The conscience wanders,
farther from a bore.

Hold fast,
be patient.
Hold on,
expectation.

Tribulation.
Question of,
designation.
Any consummation?

Unclear.
Mistake?

Why fake?
There is fear of inevitable heartbreak.
It inhabits its own place.
Its own space.
Its race.
Its face.

Unclear.
Mistake?

Everything is at stake.

Poetry Monday

October 31, 2016

Dao

Universal rehearsal.

Circle no,
cylindrical, never ending.
Whimsical no,
mundane, lacking anxiety.
Simple propriety.

Falls into step,
with a pleasurable harmony.
As does yin and yang,
coexistence in holy matrimony.
Lacking in hegemony,
complimentary symphony.

Never ending.
Increase with equal and opposite decrease.
Flux.
Something equal to Nothing.

It is, while it is not.
There is nothing inside nor out.
It simply does, but doesn’t.
With and without.

Both in and out.
Its resonance is the perfect silence.
Peace equivalent to violence.

Silence.